Act 1, Scene 3
The Duke of Albany’s palace.
- Enter Goneril and Steward Oswald.
- Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his Fool?
- Ay, madam.
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- By day and night he wrongs me, every hour
- He flashes into one gross crime or other
- That sets us all at odds. I’ll not endure it.
- His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us
- On every trifle. When he returns from hunting,
- I will not speak with him; say I am sick.
- If you come slack of former services,
- You shall do well; the fault of it I’ll answer.
- Horns within.
- He’s coming, madam, I hear him.
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- Put on what weary negligence you please,
- You and your fellows; I’d have it come to question.
- If he distaste it, let him to my sister,
- Whose mind and mine I know in that are one,
- Not to be overrul’d. Idle old man,
- That still would manage those authorities
- That he hath given away! Now by my life
- Old fools are babes again, and must be us’d
- With checks as flatteries, when they are seen abus’d.
- Remember what I have said.
- Well, madam.
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- And let his knights have colder looks among you;
- What grows of it, no matter. Advise your fellows so.
- I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall,
- That I may speak. I’ll write straight to my sister
- To hold my very course. Prepare for dinner.